By T.J. Simers
I have written a book, which wouldn’t have been exciting news to the editors of the Los Angeles Times, but the two of them have already been fired.
I have written about Kobe, Wooden, Scully, Lasorda and assorted bums. I might have to update it already to include Lincoln Riley.
“T. J. Here,” which is the way I always answered the phone, so folks knew who they were cussing out, hasn’t been published yet.
I had a book agent in New York, but he couldn’t find any publisher who had heard of me. Too bad they don’t have publishers in Memphis.
I’ve talked to a local talent agency, but they seem to require talent.
They tell me books written by sportswriters don’t sell; most sportswriters I know are boring so it figures what they would write would be boring as well.
I knew Casey Wasserman as a young man. Now he’s a media czar but the phone number I had for him must have changed. Or have been disconnected. How did he know I would be asking about publishing?
It looks like self-publishing is the way to go. I obviously have the ego to qualify for most vanity outfits.
But I am at a loss to know which one to pick, and it’s important because I will be spending money to be read.
I remember seeing Sharon Stone on the field at Dodger Stadium. I had no idea what to ask her, but it was the wrong time to be struck dumb. I lost out on Sharon, but I can’t let it happen this time; I need to make a connection.
I understand I may set the price, and I know what you’re thinking, just because I’ve always felt it was my job to offer my two cents, I’m expecting a little more.